


vaguely upwards

by AlterHarpia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Crowley centric, Crowley clears an entire road for them to have a private conversation because he's Like That, Dialogue Heavy, Fake Enemies to Shy Friends to Very Loud Lovers, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for God, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterHarpia/pseuds/AlterHarpia
Summary: In which the Apocalypse very much didn't happen, but Crowley and Aziraphale happened to each other. A not-blown-up Earth is the perfect one to do some long-awaited confessing, isn't it?





	vaguely upwards

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First time in this fandom! Please have my take on "Crowley can't hold back anymore & tells Azi about his very intense loveydovey feelings", ace edition.
> 
> I am not a native English speaker and I tend to mess up when it comes to prepositions and phrasal verbs. Please, don't hesitate to tell me if you find a mistake!! 
> 
> Vvvvvvery dialogue heavy and, uh, Crowley traumatizes a bird with his screaming alone, but it survives. I usually write longer things, but. Well.

Crowley wants it.

Queen is blasting through Bentley’s radio, the sky is an odd sort of infinite orange, Aziraphale is by his side half-heartedly trying to slow down the car with his magic and bite down a grin, planet Earth somehow didn’t blow up to pieces and Crowley wants it in that particular human way that makes everything _burn._

Burn. Burned at the stake for your crimes. Very much like a witch. But prettier.

Wanting (and burning) is not a new thing for him. He felt like asking some questions one day and has now a pair of black wings to show off, doesn’t he? Knowing is, essentially, to be troubled. To _cause_ trouble. You should not know. That belongs to God. You should follow Them. Like you’re supposed to obey traffic signs and everyone knows how Crowley feels about those.

Crowley wants to — he needs to make Aziraphale _understand._ Whatever this is. He has had enough. Is it even possible to sweat this much? His hands are trembling. Very. Uncomfortable. For someone’s sake, they have _human_ vessels! Crowley has flesh and bones and guts and right now they all exist at the edge of impossibility with a bursting-like shiver; nothing like matter itching to transform, nothing like whatever stands between devil man and devil snake, it’s something else.

He wants to. He wants to. He wants to… be with Aziraphale.

Well, he is. Aziraphale is right here. He’s singing off-key. He’s gonna drop him at the bookshop. They’re having… _meetings_ almost every day since Armageddon But Not Quite, What The Fuck Was That All About?, and they’re not being bothered by anyone, Up Above or Down Below. It’s different. It’s a relief.

But.

He’s not quite _with_ Aziraphale.

Croley groans, gripping the steering wheel tighter as if it just offended him. Will. You. Stop. Thinking. Like. A. Native. Please.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale yells to be heard over the music, but Crowley knows that he also wants to say, “Are you _trying_ to break every single rule ever written in the traffic code at the same time?”

(Again.)

“Lots of stuff in my mind!” He screams back. “Blowing off some steam so I don’t go mad!”

Aziraphale’s expression shifts, his chubby face suddenly radiating a tenderness that makes Crowley think of cheesy, absurd soap operas. “Very well, then, talk to me.”

“Er. No, thanks!”

The music stops dead.

“Hey!” He protests. “It was the besssst part! It was literally saying _Don't stop me now_!”

Aziraphale seems unfazed by this. Ohh. Punk. “You were behaving in a rather unusual way earlier today as well. I wasn’t going to pry, but I’ve changed my mind.”  

“Unusual people don’t deserve to listen to music?”

“They do not.”

“Angel, I’m _fine."_  He groans, speeding Bentley up even more. “You party pooper.”

His lips twitch. “I can tell when you’re feeling distraught due to something that _really_ matters to you, Crowley. I want to know what it might be.”  

“None of your business.”

“How so? You are my... business.”

“This sounds like a dirty joke. Tell me more.”

_“Crowley.”_

The. Way. You. Say. My. Name. He makes Bentley come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, opens the window, his heart and his mouth and — screams. Nonstop. For at least a whole minute. A bird crashes down from the sky, convulsing.

“...Crowley?”

He sniffs, settling back on his seat. “My bad.” With a snap of his fingers, the bird freezes for a second and takes flight again as if nothing has happened.  “Pretty sure I didn’t scare any human to death or anything, though. There’s nobody here.”

Aziraphale eyes widen as he looks outside for the first time. “There isn’t anyo — when did you miracle them away? Why?”

He swallows. “We need to talk.”

The hesitation almost goes unnoticed. “You have my undivided attention.”

“Lucky me." Crowley tries to smirk, but it’s more of a grimace. “I… I want to have a more clear say in how this is going to be, angel. I want you to know where I stand.”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “Clear, you say.” His hand trembles when he reaches for Crowley’s glasses, gently taking them off. Black and yellow shine with surprise at him and he smiles almost shyly. “There we go. I’m… listening.”

“Things are too different now for us to still, er, pretend around each other. I mean. We don’t have to…” He makes a vague gesture towards, well, the Universe. “We don’t have to keep acting like _all of this_ is our duty anymore. It’s not. We’re just… living.”

“We are." Aziraphale closes his eyes briefly. “For now.”

“For now,” he agrees, tone careful. “But we’ve changed. Even if we’re called by our bosses again, we won’t be the same. Not with them. Not with humanity. Not with each other.”

That’s probably bad — last time he changed, he Fell —, but not like he knew how _bad_ could be most of the times. Well, then again… It was like this with Aziraphale. It had _always_ been like this with Aziraphale. Different, new, impossible. Whatever concept dared to breathe between Good and Bad, Above and Below.

God created the Universe (widely regarded as a bad move, if I may quote), but it’s Aziraphale who shapes its meanings to Crowley.

Something about their relationship transcends the Arrangement. It's eager to create. To disobey; sometimes, under Aziraphale's clever remarks that so graciously reached beyond what he was allowed to see; sometimes, under Crowley’s rebellions that often seemed to do more good than harm. Is that Love? To color oneself, to color two souls... _grey._

He tries to say,  “The Apocawasn’t. But _you_ were. We are."

Uhhhhhhh. That didn’t come out right.

Aziraphale blinks. “You’re not one for riddles, darling.”

Crowley almost screams through the window again. “All this mess, Aziraphale!” He throws his arms up, hissing when his hands hit the roof.  “Can't you — shit, can't you _see_? What happened and what didn't happen and what can still can happen! That’s what I’m talking about! We're here. On _Earth_ of all places. We've been here for so long, trying to make sense of Their plans. And the greatest of them all, what was supposed to happen, what we were _told_ that would happen, didn't happen!”

“ — there’s, aaaahh, smoke coming out of your —”

“And yet…” Crowley puffs out an exasperated breath. “Yet _we_ happened to each other, didn't we?

He doesn’t know what to make of Aziraphale’s smile. “We did.”

“ _Ssssso,_ ” he tries, "what now?”

It’s the first time Aziraphale adverts his gaze. “It depends. What are you really _saying_?”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley winces. “If you’re asking with that tone, you already know.”

“This is, ah, dangerous.” He bites his lower lip. “I’m having many thoughts — I’ve had many thoughts for a long time that I probably shouldn't have had, ever. About you.”

“Are we still living by these shoulds and shouldn'ts?”

Aziraphale whispers, “What do you wish to live by, then?”

“I don't know!” He comes a bit closer. "I. I do. What I feel... It's… it's _good_ . No matter how you want to call it. No matter how you want to see me, be with me, call me. If it's with you, I like it. If it's with you, if it's _for_ you, angel, my angel, there's nothing I wouldn't do in this world or any other, consequences be damned.”

Aziraphale stares at him, mouth agape. He mouthes a no. He mouthes a yes. There are six millennia of feelings demanding to be voiced and Crowley can see each and every year in the way Aziraphale shatters and restores himself in front of him, even the ones he spent asleep. It is a raw sight, Crowley realizes, an existence laid bare, stripped out of the Creator’s wishes upon Their winged children.  

But there’s no Fall. When Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and kisses it carefully, lips barely lingering, there’s only Rising.

He almost too dizzy to find his voice. “What are you _doing_ to me, my angel?”

“What I can."

“Is this too fast?”

Aziraphale sighs. “T...that's what I used to think. Looking at you. Too much. Too fast. Too… charming, compelling, electrifying. Too close, but too far away."

“And now?”

“Now. And what a funny word that is... _Now_. I. I wish you were to…”  

There’s a sudden change in the air, as if something is spilling. Crowley takes a few seconds to understand that what he is seeing is a soft light traveling its way from Aziraphale’s skin to envelop both of their forms in a hug; then Crowley takes more than a few seconds to understand what happens next.

He doesn’t even close the door.

“Did you just get out of the car?! You idiot!” He stumbles out of Bentley, almost losing his balance. _“Aziraphale!”_

“Sorry! Sorry!” He blurts out, gasping for a breath he doesn’t really need. “I was getting claustrophobic!”

Crowley reaches him and takes him by the shoulders, spinning him around as gently as he can. “The car too small for you?”

“I’m afraid,” his smile is wobbly, “I’m realizing for the first time that this body might be too small to fit my love.”

Crowley freezes, almost letting him go. “To fit your what?”

“I’ve given it so much thought,” he whispers, firmly locking their eyes. “I can't fathom how anyone could perceive my love for you as anything but holy.”

Crowley doesn’t dare to let out more than a baffled, “You…” 

“I'm quite hopeless when it comes to you.  However… It feels powerful. This vulnerability. What a strange thing.” He caresses Crowley’s cheek. “What a _unique_ being you are.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes with too much fondness. “I suppose.”

“Holy, huh?” Crowley shakes his head. “This word doesn't look good on me.”

“You have an infuriating tendency to make anything look good on you, dearest.”

He smirks, bumping his nose to Aziraphale’s and snorting at his almost-offended gasp. “Is that so?”

Blue, curious eyes blink up at him. “Mmmmm. I wonder… What do they feel, exactly, regarding their significant others?”

“They?”

“Men. Women. Those who are somewhere else on the spectrum." Aziraphale says. “Humans.”

“You know them.” Crowley shrugs. “It varies. I’ve seen bits of everything, you know. Some of them… get sexual with each other. Some, don't. For so many, particular, fluid reasons.”

“We…." Aziraphale shudders. “Are we supposed to, uhm, act as they do? The majority of them?”

“I just tempt _others_ to carnal desires more than anything else,” he says. “And, well. We’ve literally inhabited each other’s bodies.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks darken. “Oh, my. Yes. We did.”

“I do feel human right now,” Crowley starts. “Dangerously so. My vessel, my body feels intoxicatingly hot. But feeling human doesn't _necessarily_ mean feeling sexual. I feel human in a way that means I see this incomprehensible blue rock as my home and I want to cherish it regardless of whatt exists Down There or Up Above. Well, a part of my home.”

“The other part, I assume, I hope, it's me.”

“It's you,” he agrees. ”I want to be with you, Aziraphale. It’s as simple as that. In many ways, you're already my partner. But I want it to be… scandalously evident. Crystal clear. We admit it to each other. We admit it to anyone who crosses our way. It's us against it all, angel. What do you say?”

For a moment, Crowley is afraid that Aziraphale, whose feelings are still so fired up that his glow shows no signals of fading, will back off, change his mind, leave him to an empty road and a merciless darkening sky. What would he do?

But he hums with an almost mischievous glint to his eyes. “What a pair, us. These bastards won't know what hit them.”

Crowley all but vibrates, his form wavering for a split second. “ _AziraphaleAziraphaleAziraphaleAziraphale."_

It's the closest Crowley will ever get to praying.

He giggles. “Hi, love.”

They press against each other. They press all that is skin, the soft, squishy parts, the more firm parts, grabbing, caressing, pulling closer. Forehead to forehead. Lips to lips, reddening. Lips to noses. Nose to nose, again and again. Hands to hair.  Palms to palms, fingers interlacing. They're touching and touching and connecting and it's human because God cannot touch what they have and it’s also not human because their wings emerge and flutter and get tangled up in a mess of black and white.

Crowley feels himself flicker again when Aziraphale lets him have a look inside his soul, they swap bodies for a moment, they travel to each other’s memories, they go back home and Crowley laughs because _back home_ means something else entirely now.

He’s _with_ Aziraphale.

From a mouth that could or couldn’t be his own, he asks. “Ssssssay that again, angel, please.”

Aziraphale’s glow is intoxicating at this point, but they can see each other clearly. “My dear, my love.”

“Love. _Love._ I can get used to that. I think I already am.”

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> I watched the TV series the day it dropped and immediately ordered the book. An illustrated edition! It hasn't arrived yet and I'm veryveryvery excited to read it. I'm working my way through American Gods right now and enjoying it a lot. I'm fascinated by how genuine and deliciously complex Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is and I hope I wrote it decently. 
> 
> It took me some time to decide what I was going for. I think the process of understanding yourself never truly ends, and, as far as I'm able to tell, "biromantic demisexuality" is something that describes me quite well. As far as labels go. And even though I had A LOT OF FUN reading amazing fics where they're sexual beings, I wanted to give Asexual!Ineffable Husbands a try. It was challenging because I wanted to make it clear that asexuality is a very human thing AND that Crowley and Azi aren't 100% human, of course. Balance is the key.
> 
> They do kiss at the end, but, to me, at least here, it means something we can't quite put in a "sexual" box. They're smooching and touching and GETTINGIMPOSSIBLYCLOSER because they want to demonstrate intimacy with their bodies like humans do in many contexts, with different kinds of love; and then they swap bodies because they want to demonstrate intimacy supernatural being style.
> 
> Please tell me what you think and happy pride to everyone!
> 
> If you feel like talking, I'm ametista_bruta on twitter and holyhikari on tumblr.


End file.
